


I'm going away (Do you want to come with?)

by brokxnharry



Series: I think I'm coming undone [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Derek Comes Back, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e06 Motel California, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Made me cry writing it, Mentions of Stydia, Mentions of the Argents, Other, Panic Attacks, Sad Scott, Sad Stiles Stilinski, The Hale Fire, They all deserve better, Triggers, a bit of humor, but also spoilers from season 3 in general, but nothing else detailed, detailed panic attacks, everyone's feeling guilty, melissa is the best mum, mentions of peter but barely, mentions of scott's dad, nightmares and dreams and stuff, sciles are the best duo, sterek angst and fluff, the sheriff is the best father in the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 20:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11494365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokxnharry/pseuds/brokxnharry
Summary: Stiles tries to stop Scott, tries to save him, and he does. But the fire starts anyway, and it wants to take someone.





	I'm going away (Do you want to come with?)

**Author's Note:**

> I've always loved this episode but could see so many versions of it, and since angsty stories are my favorite, this happened.  
> The title is from the song Do you want to come with by Stephen Fretwell.  
> Obviously, I don't own any of the characters or the main storyline.  
> The tags are for the series as a whole, not a single chapter, just to clarify.   
> Enjoy!

Scott could feel Stiles' hand on his. Could feel him pulling the flame away from his hand. Could feel him getting close. Too close. His walls were crumbling. He was giving in. The whispers were still loud in his head, but he could hear the sound of Stiles' heartbeat every time it hit against his chest, and everything else just died down, because he didn't want to lose that. He couldn't take Stiles with him.

So he let him throw the flame away, watched his eyes fill with tears and chest heave with emotions that he was still too out of it to comprehend. But then he heard Lydia's scream, and he found himself stumbling to the ground, feeling every pebble as it collided with his drenched skin, sensing every scratch as it formed, tearing at him the way the wound in his stomach did too.

He opened his eyes, searching for the weight on top of him, unable to hear the heartbeat past the ringing in his ears. Allison had taken off her shirt, she was hitting it against the fire that wouldn't settle. His eyes followed the line of the fire, seeking out some point where it ended. Where it would all end. But the fire had caught onto Stiles' legs, brushing against his back, and he wasn't fighting. He was just laying there and Scott couldn't hear anything. The whispers had scurried away because what else would they possibly want from him? He already had a hand on his chest, willing his heart to just break through his ribcage, to just break through him. What else would the whispers want, when he felt himself fading away, every time Allison hit against one of Stiles' limbs, sending it flying, then crashing against the ground?

Lydia appeared, with a fire extinguisher, that covered Stiles in layers of foam, instead of burned clothes and bloody skin. Scott wondered if he closed his eyes shut and blocked all his senses, if he'd think that Stiles was asleep in his room, covered in a blanket instead. But Scott couldn't breathe and the smell of burned skin wouldn't leave him. Stiles' head was turned away from him but his hands were close, because he'd pushed him away from harm's way and laid on top of him, taking it all for him.

He heard something about head injury, something that sounded like critical and ambulance and we need help. He blinked the tears away and Lydia had her hand on Stiles' forehead and it came up bloody. Everything was so fucking bloody and smoky and ashy and just… wrong. It didn't make sense.

" Is he alive? Ch-check his heartbeat, I can't hear anything. Oh my God, I can't hear anything. Is he- check his vitals. Somebody fucking check his vitals. I- I can't, I can't," Scott collapsed, face falling into a pool of gasoline that hadn't been reached by the fire because Stiles caught it. Stiles caught fire. Because of Scott.

He moved his hands, trying to reach out, touch Stiles, do something. Oh God, he had to do something, but everything was shaking and blurry and the picture seemed to have tilted, darkened around the corners. He was choking on his own breath when Allison fell beside him, and if he could say anything at all, he would have told her that no, she needed to help Lydia with Stiles, she shouldn't be with him, she shouldn't be around him at all, she had to help Stiles, save Stiles.

He felt his eyes rolling to the back of his head, closing upon the blue and red and white lights that shone so bright, so vivid, they almost looked like the angry fire that he could still see, could still smell, even after the darkness had devoured him whole. Or in pieces.

                                                                                                           

                                                                                                                         ******************

 

Scott sat in the waiting room of the hospital, wearing one of their gowns now because they had to change and wash him. His clothes were still covered in gasoline. The doctors said he'd had a severe panic attack, which made him think of Stiles, because he'd always been the one suffering from those, and Scott was the one with the flame in his hand, he was the one who was meant to get hurt. Everything was such a mess.

Scott put his head into his hands, and every time he blinked, he saw fire behind his eyes, burning down the layers of skin on his best friend's body, dancing almost in celebration, because it had him now. He saw Stiles chasing him around the park, then apologizing to Melissa for straying too far away, like it hadn't been Scott who'd urged him on. He saw him laying down on his couch for weeks after his dad had left and his mum had folded upon herself, only a little. And then he saw him, stepping into the gasoline, when everyone else had cowered away, looking at him like he was there, like he mattered.

Scott howled or cried or yelled. He didn't know what had come out of him, when he found Stiles' father's arms surrounding him, suffocating him with the smell of home. The smell of safety and belonging and everything he'd grown up with. Everything he felt like he was losing. Like he no longer deserved.

" Shh, it's okay, Scott. It's okay." He hadn't realized he'd been crying out his apologies, until the Sheriff had taken his face into his hands, purposefully wiping away the tears that he could taste on his lips, along with the blood that had come out of the lip that he'd bitten down.

" Stiles is okay. Doctor said he was lucky, only first and second degree burns, and a slight concussion from the fall. Nothing major. Nothing permanent either." The Sheriff smiled, and Scott wondered how he wasn't falling apart, wasn't in a corner somewhere, willing the world away.

" Your mum is in there with him now. He's awake and he asked about you." Scott's eyes fell shut, his head leaned forward, like he couldn't carry the weight of himself any longer, as another cry rocked through him.

" Hey, kid, what's wrong?" The Sheriff tried, he tried to lift Scott's head up, to hold it for him, to relief him of that weight that he could see was burying him under. But Scott shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, letting his hands fall against the Sheriff's shoulder, as he clung to him, like he was the only thing keeping him together. And he probably was.

" I can’t. I can't go in there. I can't see him, Mr. Stilinski. I'm so sorry. I can't." The Sheriff's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but it didn't take him long to smile reassuringly, standing now to put Scott's head against his abdomen, burying his own face into the boy's hair.

" Okay, Scott. You do this at your own pace. It's okay. You're okay." Scott wanted to tell him that he wasn't. He wasn't okay and he didn't know how to be okay with that regret that was weighing him down, with that pit of guilt in his stomach, that hole in his chest that Stiles had burned into him, but he almost got burnt himself.

The Sheriff held him for a moment or so, leaving a kiss on the top of his head, before he disappeared down the hallway, and into what was now Stiles' burn unit. Scott just kept on crying, with his arms around himself, and his head buried somewhere within him. He felt arms around him and knew one of them belonged to his mother. He allowed himself to be held by her, allowed her to bare the weight of his heavy conscious as he cried into her. She didn't know why he was crying, didn't know what could possibly break her son's heart so terribly, but she held him through it and prayed that it would be enough.

He heard Lydia and Allison approaching and he couldn't handle it. He wanted out. Out of the skin that wasn't burned although it deserved to be. Out of the body that was barely scratched when it should have been gone, faded. Out of the mind that was taunting him with memories of his friend. His brother, who he'd damaged so selfishly, so stupidly. But he didn’t mean to. God, he never meant for any of this to happen.

He pulled away from his mother, shaking his head at all the consolations and the worries and the smothering. He pushed against the hands trying to check up on him and the heads trying to lay against him and he put his hands in the air because he was done. He couldn't take it any longer. Any of it. So he walked out of that hospital, in a town he didn't know, leaving behind a confused mother and a wounded best friend that he didn't know how to ever face again. He walked through the streets he didn't know, breathing in air that still stank of things burning, feeling things through trembling limbs, seeing what he saw through the fire that still roared in his eyes. Until he found a bus that took him back home, wherever the hell that was anymore.

When he got there, Stiles' Jeep was still parked outside because he'd slept over the previous night and they'd taken the school bus together to go to that game. And Scott felt the need to throw something at it. To hit it with all he got and crash and burn it. But then he thought of burning and Stiles and he started crying again. He went up to his room and locked it because it still smelled of Stiles. Stiles before all the traumas and injuries and burns and he wanted to keep that. He wanted to stay there until the smell faded and so did he.

                                                               

                                                                                                                   ********************

 

Stiles could feel something nibbling at his legs, scratching, tearing. He could hear his chest cracking, with every breath he inhaled, pumping blood through his tired veins, that ached, as he flexed his muscles, making sure that everything was there. That things were still working. But there was a heaviness on his back to match the one of his chest and he could almost feel himself being squished between it all.

" Stiles," He heard his dad's voice as it broke through the emptiness that had enveloped him. He tried to open his eyes, blinking the darkness and exhaustion away. " I'm right here, son, open your eyes for me, come on."

As soon as he did, he was overwhelmed by the waves of agony coursing through him. It felt like he was still burning. Like his legs weren't there but there was a raging fire where they were supposed to be. Like his back was breaking and rebuilding and breaking all over again. He barely had the time to yell, barely had the time to catch his father's fearful eyes, before he was being put to sleep again.

He didn't have the time or the energy to ask about Scott. Ask what had happened and if everyone else was okay. Ask about the game and who would now play it. Or if it'd already been played and won or lost. He couldn't ask about what they'd told Coach, and everybody else too, because they couldn't tell them the truth. It'd be too much for Scott. And oh, was Scott okay? Did he get hurt at all? Was he better now? Was he there?

Stiles couldn't ask those questions the next time he woke up. Or the one after that. But the fourth time, he could, because it'd been around 24 hours and his body had recuperated enough for him to form actual thoughts and speak out audible words.

His dad told him that Scott was fine, that he was back home, and that was why Melissa wasn't there, at the hospital, because she didn't want to leave Scott alone. Because Scott couldn't really be left alone right now. Stiles nodded, and didn't question why Scott went home at all, why he wasn't there, with Stiles, reassuring him that everything was okay. Or that it at least would be. He slipped away into restless sleep, dreaming of orange and red and yellow and black as dark as the night but also as bright as Scott's eyes when he'd seen them last.

When Stiles woke up that night, he asked his dad for a phone, told him to give him a minute, but to stay close, just in case.

" Hello, John, how is Stiles?"

" Ms. Mccall, I'm fine. I'm- I'm good." Melissa gasped. Or choked. Or cried. Stiles couldn't really tell. There was still ringing in his ears, echoings of what Scott had said, right before.

" Stiles, sweetheart, I- it's so good to hear your voice. What are the doctors saying? Are they taking good care of you?"

" Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. How is Scott? Are you with him?" He was trying to keep the phone by his ear, but his arms were shaking, and the movement was stirring the ache at the end of his back, and he just wanted to ask for something for the pain. Something to take him away again. But he needed to do this. Needed to hear from Scott. Or at least, of him.

" He's in his room. Has been ever since I came here. I put food and water outside his door, but so far, he hasn't come out. He doesn't even respond to me at all when I talk to him. To be honest with you, I don't really know what to do. Don't know how to help him if he- if he won't let me in." This time, she did cry. He heard the quiver in her voice, the suffocated breathing, the sigh she let out, right before the cry came out of her.

" It's okay, Ms. Mccall. It's going to be okay. He just… he's been through a lot. God. He's been through **_a lot_** , but he's going to be okay. Just- do you think you can bring him here? Or talk to my dad about transferring me to some place close to home? Because I want to see him, Ms. Mccall. I need to make sure he's alright, for myself." He didn't know if the tears blurring his sight were of pain or of fear. He didn't know if he could shed them, without causing too much fuss to the rest of his tired body. He didn't know if he could swallow them away either.

" I'll see what I can do. You just, take care of yourself. Get better, and come home, Stiles. Because we need you. I love you, kid, alright?"

" Yeah," He bit down on his lip, sliding his face against the bed sheets, just to erase all signs of his almost breakdown, because truth be told, he was in a lot of pain, and he was scared shitless because the last thing he remembered was Scott almost killing himself, and he couldn't shake that. He just couldn't. " I love you too."

The phone fell away from his hand right as he heard the click of her hanging up. His father was then pushing through his door, taking his hands, while calling for a nurse. Someone came in, pushing more Morphine into Stiles' IV, and he drifted away.

                                                                                                             

                                                                                                                       *****************

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think, it'd mean the world x


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